


Chickenpox

by danisnopeonfire



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluffy illness, M/M, Phanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4932199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danisnopeonfire/pseuds/danisnopeonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan gets chickenpox for the first time and Phil looks after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chickenpox

“You okay over there?” Phil’s eyebrows are raised as he looks to his side at Dan, who is hastily scratching at his neck and face. He’d been at it for about an hour now—ever since they started watching  _Spirited Away—_ and it's definitely making sitting on the couch an extremely difficult endeavour.

“Hmm,” Dan mumbles through clenched teeth, scratching desperately at the irritable skin on his neck.

Phil sends him a funny look.

“Stop that,” he whispers simply. He moves an arm to pull Dan’s hand away from his neck and then holds it firmly on his lap. “You’re just going to make it worse if you do that.”

“But it fucking  _hurts_ ,” Dan retorts, making a face of discomfort as he awkwardly squirms where he's sat, obviously trying to move away from Phil in an attempt to gain access to his hand again.

Phil sighs, keeping a firm hold on Dan’s hand as he shakes his head, picking up the remote to pause the movie. It had been completely neglected by now.

“What did you even do to it to make it so irritable?” Phil asks, craning his neck to take a better look.

“I don’t  _know_ ,” Dan says exasperatedly. He huffs out a long, desperate breath. “It’s just been itching since, like…this morning?” It's more of a question aimed at his own memory, almost like he's expecting Phil to blurt out the answer for him.

Phil turns around in his seat, dropping Dan’s hand for a second to face him, and then tilts Dan's face by his chin so that he can inspect his neck properly. There are rash-like spots littering the sides and front of his neck, and they are starting to form on his face, too—mainly around his forehead area. Coupled with this is a deathly pale complexion, causing Dan to look more ill and washed-out than Phil's ever seen him.

“Oh, dear,” Phil whispers, touching lightly at the skin on Dan’s neck and noticing how it  _burns_  beneath his fingers.

Dan raises an eyebrow, sending Phil a funny look.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“Have you ever had chickenpox before?” Phil asks, moving his hand to Dan’s forehead to take a vague reading of his temperature. He's practically  _burning up_. Phil curses to himself quietly.

“No?  _No_ —what’s this got to do with anything? What’s going on with my fucking face, Phil?” Dan practically groans out in frustration, feeling his throat burn as he speaks.  _Where has all of this suddenly come from?_

“Shh, Dan. You’re just going to make yourself feel worse,” Phil soothes, dropping his hand away from Dan's burning face. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Phil pushes himself up from the couch, leaving behind a very irritable and very itchy Dan, as he makes his way into their kitchen. It had been a fair while since either of them had gotten sick, but Phil's adamant they have enough medical supplies in to suffice. Once in the kitchen, Phil opens one of the cupboards that contains all of the medicines and supplies akin to such things. He rummages around for a while before he finds what he's looking for, and then pulls the bottle out along with a packet of ibuprofen. Whilst he’s in the kitchen, he pours a glass of water and grabs a damp flannel, before making his way back to the living room.

Dan is scratching away at his face and neck again when Phil returns.

“ _Dan…_ ” Phil reprimands, setting the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch, before sitting down again.

“Do you want to experience this, Phil? Because, I’m telling you, it’s pretty difficult and painful  _not_ to scratch it!” Dan snaps, his face flushed and his voice croaky.

“I  _have_ experienced that before, Dan.” Phil sighs, picking up the bottle of Sudocrem and opening the cap. “You've  got chickenpox. Haven’t you had them before?” His voice is softer now, more caring.

Dan shakes his head sadly as he lets his hand fall away from his neck. The scratching is only making it much more irritable, anyway.

“I always thought I was one of those weird, immune kids. I never got it, even when my friends did,” he mumbles out. His throat is sore and it even hurts him to whisper.

Phil sends him a sympathetic look. Having chickenpox doesn’t place high on his bucket list, so he definitely doesn't envy Dan right now.

“Face me, please.” Phil lifts his hand to Dan’s chin and then tilts it so he has better access to Dan’s face. With one hand, he gathers some of the Sudocrem cream onto his forefinger, before bringing it to Dan’s neck and rubbing it in where all the spots and rashes are.

Dan hisses out in discomfort, clamping his eyes shut and gritting his teeth.

“Is that cold?” Phil murmurs, being as gentle and as precise as he can with his movements.

Dan just nods, blinking an eye open to watch Phil's face.

“ _Extremely_ cold,” Dan mumbles out, his face immediately scrunching up in discomfort as the cream begins to sting his skin.

Phil pouts sympathetically as he leans forward to press a kiss to Dan's cheek. "I'm sorry."

 He gathers some more cream and rubs it onto Dan’s face where the spots are. They haven’t blistered yet, which Phil is silently hopeful about, because he knows from experience that blistered spots hurt like a  _bitch._ And if past experiences are anything to go by, Dan's pain tolerance is far worse than Phil's.

“Alright. You’ll be uncomfortable for a while, but you  _can’t_ scratch your skin, Dan—I can’t express that enough.” Phil puts the lid back on the cap and examines Dan’s face. He looks like the epitome of every teenager’s nightmare. It takes every ounce of Phil's willpower to hold back a giggle.

“Why do my face and neck feel like they’re on fire?” Dan groans, collapsing his head forward to lean it on Phil’s shoulder, not bothering to make his movements careful.

“That’s the cream. It won’t feel like that forever; you just need to give it time to work.” Phil presses another kiss to the top of Dan’s flushed head, before prying him away. “Come on, up; you’re getting cream all over my shirt,” he tells him, patting at Dan’s shoulder. “You need to take some ibuprofen or else your throat will feel like it’s literally carving a hole inside of itself. It’s not a pleasant feeling.”

Dan groans and lugs his body upwards so that he can sit up properly. He eyes the cream bottle with distaste, and Phil has to suppress a giggle because he literally looks so unimpressed by the whole ordeal. Instead of doing that, though, Phil picks up the packet of ibuprofen, popping two of the pills out and then placing the packet back down on the coffee table.

“Here, hold these,” he instructs simply, handing the pills to a reluctant-looking Dan.

The glass of water is handed to him next, and Dan takes it with a small frown. He swallows the pills in a matter of seconds, the water following suit, despite his disliking of swallowing pills. He just needs something to relieve the burning sensation in his throat that seems to be constantly growing.

“This isn’t  _working_ ,” Dan whines, instinctively moving his hand up to his neck to relieve the incessant itch, before stopping himself when he catches sight of the look that Phil is sending in his direction—a look that evokes so much warning, yet so much gentle authority.

“You’re being impatient, that’s why,” Phil says calmly, taking the empty glass. “I’m taking this glass back to the kitchen to wash it, then you’re going to bed to sleep this whole thing off.”

Dan mutters something incoherent and Phil rolls his eyes. He doesn’t wait for an actual answer as he stands up in the direction of the kitchen; it would probably only be a disgruntled one, anyway.

However, when Phil returns to the living room a few minutes later, Dan is completely crashed out and asleep on the couch. His slightly damp fringe is washing loosely over his flushed and red forehead, and his hand is practically clutching at his neck. He’s breathing quite more heavily than usual, and with imperceptible movements, his closed eyelids are fluttering slightly with every inhale and exhale he makes. Dan’s other arm is hanging off the couch and his fingers are brushing against the cold wood of the floor, because he is definitely and completely more than too tall for it, and all Phil can think is  _how does someone manage impeccably to maintain their beauty when they’re ill?_

He doesn’t have the heart to wake his sleeping, ill partner up from what appears to be a comfortable rest, so he sighs as he pulls off the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it loosely over Dan’s body. He still hasn’t forgotten about the fact that he can’t itch his neck though, so he pulls Dan’s hand away from said body part and places it gently—so as not to wake him—on his lap.

And all is well and quiet as Phil begins to walk away in the direction of their bedroom to give Dan some peace, until he is abruptly stopped by the sound of Dan's croaky, sarcastic voice:

“Fuck you,” Dan croaks out, and within seconds, his hand is back at his neck again and he is scratching at it like a savaged  _animal_ , and all Phil can do is roll his eyes at Dan's half-asleep state. 

But the same look of fondness is present on his face as he smiles at Dan, turns out the light, and whispers, "Get well soon."


End file.
